On page 40 of Nomade published in 2017 I wrote:
“When I was very young, revolt was the engine of my existence. My mother fed it. This woman who gave birth to me chained me through the maze of our common memory. It is by following this endless tunnel that I seek it by writing. I feel it, I smell it…
Yemma (mother), today you are gone
I come to knock on your
virtual or real door that separates us…
This door that is neither wood nor iron
No lock…
I’d like to open it just to thank you for leaving me your sense of fairness and your vast humanism. When I was little I was taught that in the beginning was the verb but for me in the religion of my time, there is no beginning without love, there is no life without Dadda, my father and Yemma , because they are love.
This is the homage I offer to you, like a prayer and Almighty God is my witness to it.”